Waterloo
by Mrs. Elizabeth Gibbs
Summary: "The realization that they're having this conversation naked in her bed comes to his head and he almost laughs, but then her words echo in his head and the melancholia comes back." The Talk. Ranges from Shannon and Jasper to Paris and airplanes to Hollis and Todd. Jibbs. One-shot.


A/N: I got this prompt a long time ago, from my friend Alivia. I was finally able to write it, as my NCIS/Jibbs muse has abandoned me for the moment. This is, essentially 'the Talk', with my own personal spin on things. I'd love feedback; it's been forever since I've written this pairing.

There's a line from The West Wing in here; kudos to those that catch it!

Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of NCIS.

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The first time they fell in bed together, he thought nothing of it.

The sexual tension had been brewing ever since she'd become Director, and he figured the world- or at least, the employees of NCIS- was just lucky it had happened at his house instead of in the middle of the bullpen. They'd just closed the case with Zach, and their eyes had been catching more- she'd been watching from the catwalk more, and those green eyes held more questions than answers.

The second time, it was in her office, and he couldn't remember a time when their sex had been hotter.

He'd brought her dinner and she'd helped with the case; a little too much beer and they were gone, him pressing her into the couch and her reaching for his belt. They were lucky it was late; quiet had never exactly been their forte.

The third time, he knew they were in trouble.

He showed up at her house after the kidnapping with coffee, Italian food, and a kiss on the temple; they ate the food, had sex in her bed, and he held her when the nightmares came. The next more, he left like always, but this time, the sense that things were about to change wouldn't leave him alone.

After Mexico, he didn't know what their relationship was. They'd never defined it- preferred not to- and he didn't even know if he remembered everything. So when he found out she was dating his doctor, he figured that seeing Hollis on the side wasn't against the rules.

He barely recognized her through the La Grenouille mess; part of him just wanted to screw the insanity out of her in her office bathroom, another part told him to cut his losses and realize that they would never be together, and a final part told him to wait it out and let her cool off.

It isn't until Carson stays with her that he realizes just how tired she truly is.

She asks him to stay in her round-about way, and he finds himself agreeing before he can even think. Whether it's because she's offering sex or because he knows he's missed her, he can't tell, but when they make love that night, it feels different somehow. He can't put a finger on it, but it's almost like she's trying to absorb every last detail, like this is a series of final moments.

And then-

"Jethro?"

He's pulled from his thoughts by her soft voice, lulling him away from reliving the past. He turns his head, catching her eyes. She's stretched out beside him, the sheets tangled at chest-level, her crimson hair touseled from their previous activites.

"Yeah?" he asks, turning his body so he was on his side, his hand behind his head.

"I asked 'How did we get here?'," she replies, shifting slightly, the covers dipping to reveal the tops of her breasts. Right, that was how that train of thought had started. He opens his mouth to reply when she flips on her back, one hand thrown up above her tangled red locks. "It was a rhetorical question, Jethro."

He remains silent, not knowing what to say. She's on personal leave, won't tell him why; just asked him to stay when he came over to ask why Vance was Acting Director, and he agreed because he couldn't say no. He wants desperately to understand her, to understand what was going on with her, but a part of him knows he'll never completely understand her- too much baggage has occured since Paris and they're both too dysfunctional to have a healthy relationship.

"If we had told each other about our pasts in Paris, where would we be now?" she asks suddenly, and he stiffens; it's the age old question. "I like to think we would have worked. Could have broken your divorce streak. No kids. Maybe a dog."

"If I'd told you about Shannon, you'd have stayed?" he asks in avoidance of her question, watching her face as she thought. He's asked the question before; it isn't new. But maybe this time, he'll get an answer that didn't make him think about all the 'what-ifs'.

"I would have been more willing to talk to you about the job offer," she answers honestly, and he nods, accepting that. "If I'd told you about my father, would it have changed anything?"

"Mighta been able to convince you not to destory yourself over Grenouille," he replies, and she snorts, the sound almost harsh.

"You tried to do that anyway," she says, but the tone was softer than he thought it would be. "You're not the first. But you are the last."

The finality of the statement hits them both; they fall into silence again.

"Why Hollis?" she asks after a reasonable amount of time has passed, tugging on the sheet when it falls too low on her chest. He feels a brief flash of disappointment as her skin is replaced by the navy sheet, but answers her.

"She was available," he replies, shrugging. "Didn't have baggage, didn't ask questions in the beginning. Was the opposite of you."

She purses her lips, thinking his statement over, nodding.

"Why Todd?" he asks, and she flashes him a sad grin, giving him her own shrug.

"Always wanted to date a doctor," she answers, and he rolls his eyes. "Because he was everything you weren't and I needed that for a little while."

This was the most honest they've ever been with each other; more truths were being revealed in this half-hour span than in almost their entire relationship in Europe. Jenny rolls so that her back is to him, and he wonders if she's fallen asleep until she speaks again, falling onto her back.

"I was a coward, the way I left," she says, and his eyes widen briefly before he relaxes, waiting for her to continue. "The letter was a bitchy move, and I apologize, though I understand if you don't accept. I didn't know how to tell you, and I couldn't let you convince me not to take the job. I had a plan and you didn't fit into it, not that I tried that hard to allow you to."

He stays silent and she swallows, closing her eyes briefly to collect herself.

"I never wanted to be the woman who walked away regretting her decision," Jenny says quietly, lacing her fingers together over her chest, her pale fingers looking thin against the dark sheets. "But that's what I became, and always will be. I can't fix the past; I can only try to amend my actions. I don't know if that's what this is- I don't know what this is."

He snorts in agreement; he has no idea what the hell this was. Her emerald eyes meet his, and there's something in those green depths that melts away his amusement; he grows serious, sitting up slightly when she does.

"I'm dying."

She says it so bluntly he almost doesn't understand. He swallows, looking for a word to describe how he feels. None come.

"I've been diagnosed with multiple sclerosis, and a rather advanced and aggravated case, at that," she says, so casually he almost doesn't believe she's talking about herself.

"Can they-"

"There are short term treatments," she answers, cutting off his question, knowing what he's going to ask. "But in the end, I'll be dead within the next year and a half."

There's a look in her green eyes, and it makes his stomach churn.

"It'll get ugly, and that's that."

His stomach bottoms out, and he breaks her gaze, dropping it to her hands in her lap. The realization that they're having this conversation naked in her bed comes to his head and he almost laughs, but then her words echo in his head and the melancholia comes back.

He kisses her, forceful and passionate with an almost violent edge, like he can kiss away the disease that was destroying her from the inside out. She responds easily, opening her mouth to him, her hands sliding down his shoulders, over his chest and abdomen. He hisses against her lips, trapping her body between his and the mattress, like his body covering hers can protect her.

"Jethro."

She says his name against his lips and he pulls back, breathing heavily as he meets her eyes. They're softer than he expects, and then her fingers brush his cheek gently.

"Let's make this count," she murmurs, and he swallows, understanding what she means. He leans down, pressing his mouth to hers, and he lets himself get lost in the kiss.

He'd make this count if it was the last thing he did.


End file.
